


Sincerity

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Bruises, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Inline with canon, M/M, Masochism, No Aftercare, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punching, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Threats of Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Imayoshi’s been expecting Hanamiya, knew his arrival was inevitable after the result of Kirisaki Dai Ichi’s game against Seirin." Hanamiya has one way to deal with loss and Imayoshi knows how to handle it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sincerity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyFiamma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/gifts), [Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claws/gifts).



There’s no gentleness when Hanamiya finally arrives.

Imayoshi’s been expecting him, knew his arrival was inevitable after the result of Kirisaki Dai Ichi’s game against Seirin. It would have been entertaining to play against Hanamiya himself in the tournament -- he’s somewhat disappointed to have lost that opportunity -- but there is an entirely different pleasure to be had now, and Imayoshi has always been adaptable. His perpetual smile pulls a little tighter at the knock against his front door, and when he gets up to answer it he moves slowly enough that there’s a repetition of the sound before he unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door an inch.

“Hanamiya!” he exclaims with as much false surprise as he can muster. “I didn’t expect you tonight.”

Some nights Hanamiya is in the mood for playing. In the past they have gone hours before they let their facades fall; on one occasion they maintained it for the entire interlude, both of them playing at tenderness they knew to be a lie. Tonight he lifts his gaze but not his chin, fixes Imayoshi with a stare that lacks even the hint of a smile to soften it. Imayoshi doesn’t restrain the amusement that slides up his throat into a laugh, but he doesn’t delay, either, steps aside and pulls the door open so Hanamiya can step inside.

Imayoshi didn’t really expect him to be in the mood for games, tonight.

“I saw your game this afternoon,” he says anyway, maintaining the polite cadence of small talk even as he slides the deadbolt home and takes the lead up the stairs. Hanamiya turns his head to watch his movements, his chin tipped down so all Imayoshi can see of his eyes is shadow. He follows the other after a moment, taking each step with deliberate force so Imayoshi knows what is coming, as if he wasn’t already certain.

Imayoshi slides the knot of his tie loose, eases the fabric free of his collar so he can wind it around his fingers. “Shame about the conclusion.” His foot hits the top of the landing. Imayoshi takes a longer stride down the hallway, not visibly increasing his pace but covering the distance with steps that Hanamiya has to jog to match. That’ll just make him angrier, but Imayoshi is knotting over the tie in his hands as he moves, and he’s confident in his ability to deal with the other. “I was cheering for you, you know.”

Hanamiya makes a sound, something that would be a laugh if he weren’t so tight-wound with fury and comes out in the shape of a growl instead. Imayoshi nudges the door of his bedroom open with his foot, drops the loop of his tie around his fingers while his blood goes warm with anticipation. “I would have liked to beat you myself.”

Hanamiya moves fast. He’s taking a step forward, twisting his arm across his chest to throw an elbow into Imayoshi’s ribcage with enough force to bruise deep and maybe to crack bone. Imayoshi takes the half-step back he needs to dodge the swing, reaches out to grab at Hanamiya’s uncovered wrist as his motion swings wide and unresisted. The loop drops over the other’s hand and Imayoshi steps in behind him as Hanamiya hisses and nearly falls.

“That was sloppy,” Imayoshi chides. Hanamiya is still twisting to look at him, slow to react to the sudden movement, and with one arm already pinned Imayoshi can grab at the other, twist Hanamiya’s wrists together and drag the loop of his tie around them both before he pulls the waiting knot tight. “You know me better than that.”

“This isn’t what I’m here for,” Hanamiya lies. Imayoshi yanks the knot tighter, enough that the fabric digs in against the other’s wrists and he hisses at the pain. “ _Ouch_.” His voice cracks on the exclamation, jumping high and fragile. Imayoshi holds the tie with one hand, reaches out to sink his fingers into Hanamiya’s long hair and form a fist of it before shoving down and forward so the other’s knees give way and he drops to the floor.

Hanamiya takes a breath, and Imayoshi can all but see the persona settling into the line of his shoulders. “Please, senpai,” he tries again, twisting his head back to ease the pressure at his scalp and turning his gaze up to Imayoshi’s face. “I’m sorry for trying to hit you.” His eyes skip down and away, his mouth goes soft and shaky against emotion. “I’m...I just wanted to  _win_ , to have a chance to play against you again.”

Imayoshi’s laugh comes easy over his tongue, spurred louder by the rush of adrenaline in his veins. “Your acting has only gotten better.” He shifts his grip at the other’s hair, winds the strands tighter around his fingers while Hanamiya’s throat works on a whimper.

Then the softness at the other’s eyes vanishes, his mouth falls into a flat line of boredom, and when he glances back up the gold of his eyes is smoky and suggestive under his lashes. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” Imayoshi says, and shoves at the back of Hanamiya’s head, lets his carefully-won hold go all at once. The other topples forward, the knot at his wrists keeping him from catching his weight; it’s only a snap-quick turn of his head that lets him take the impact against his cheek instead of the bridge of his nose as Imayoshi drops his weight to sit against the other’s hips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” and that’s honest, now, raw and furious like the kick he tries to sink against Imayoshi’s back. The angle’s all wrong, it’s not hard to tip out of range, and Imayoshi shoves up at Hanamiya’s bound wrists, twists his arms well past the point of comfort and holds him there while he unfolds the loose line of Hanamiya’s shirt collar so he can drag at the back of the other’s tie. It’s the wrong direction to pull the pressure loose, hangs all the resistance against Hanamiya’s windpipe instead of the back of his throat, and for a moment any coherent protest is lost to the choking sound of the other struggling for air, tipping his head back like that will gain him relief from the pressure.

Then Imayoshi twists his wrist, the fabric falls loose from the knot, and Hanamiya drops his head forward, presses his forehead against the floor and gasps for air so hard Imayoshi can hear the strain in his throat.

“It’s gonna be like that, huh?” he asks after a moment. There’s no amusement in his voice, just understanding, but when Imayoshi glances at his face Hanamiya is watching him through the dark of his hair, the corner of his lips dragging into a smile too lopsided to be insincere.

“Hey, come on,” Imayoshi protests, offers his best fake smile in return. He tosses Hanamiya’s tie aside, shifts his weight back over the other’s knees so he can shove his hand between Hanamiya’s hips and the floor. The other grinds down against him, pins his fingers to the ground with bruising force, but Imayoshi just pushes harder, until he can feel the metal of a belt laid over zipper. “Don’t try to make me out to be the bad guy.” There’s resistance behind the fabric, the pressure and heat of Hanamiya’s cock straining against the cloth, just like Imayoshi knew it would be. He digs his palm in to punctuate and Hanamiya groans, turns his head to open his mouth and pant wetly against the floor while Imayoshi digs his hand in against him. “You came here, you know what you always get from me.” Harder, pinning Hanamiya’s length in against the other’s body, hard enough to scrape the raw edge of zipper into him so he mewls protest to the ground. “You know that you  _lost_.”

That steals Hanamiya’s breath more effectively than the tie, breaks his composure better than the pressure, and Imayoshi draws back, curls a thumb under Hanamiya’s belt and drags the buckle open while the other is looking for an impossible rebuttal. He settles for a hiss, in the end, but that’s warning enough for Imayoshi to slide back an inch before Hanamiya tries a kick again, and he’s got the button undone, now, is twisting his fingers in to grab at the zipper while Hanamiya rocks against his hand like he’s trying to get himself off or crush Imayoshi’s fingers or both. The zipper is more obedient than Hanamiya is, gives way to Imayoshi’s tug so he can twist his hand free, and then he’s dragging at Hanamiya’s clothes with no consideration for the way the edge of the other’s boxers catch at the resistance of his cock. Hanamiya chokes protest, rocks his hips to tug himself loose, and then his clothes are sliding off his hips and down his thighs and that’s enough for what Imayoshi wants him for.

Hanamiya recollects his coherency while Imayoshi is steadying his hold on the other’s hip, just as he’s sliding his fingers into his mouth to get them minimally slick with saliva since he can’t be sure Hanamiya won’t bite him. “ _Fuck_  you,  _senpai_ ” and it sounds furious but the title is a taunt, draws a grin to Imayoshi’s face no less bright because Hanamiya can’t see it.

“No,” he says, slow and considering, as he slides his fingers free and traces down the line of Hanamiya’s ass. Hanamiya whines against the floor, tugs uselessly at the knot around his wrists, but he’s arching up against Imayoshi’s touch, rising to the contact like iron meeting a magnet. “That’s not the way this is going to go, I think.”

Hanamiya manages a laugh, amusement overtaking irritation in his voice as quickly as dawn breaking over the darkness of night. “You’re planning the other way around?”

“Something like that,” Imayoshi agrees, and thrusts a pair of fingers into the other’s body. Hanamiya jerks against the floor, tension rippling through him that Imayoshi can feel tight against him, but he doesn’t pull away, just keeps pushing in until his fingers are buried entirely inside the other. “What do you think?” He asks it casually, like they’re having a perfectly normal conversation and Hanamiya isn’t trembling uncontrollably underneath him, winning himself an incredulous laugh from the other.

“Does my opinion  _matter_?” He’s twisting his wrists but Imayoshi knows he tied the knots tightly, all he’s succeeding in doing is rubbing his skin raw. Imayoshi doesn’t care. If Hanamiya wants to leave himself visibly marked all the better.

“Not really,” he admits instead, draws his fingers back an inch to thrust back in, slowly so Hanamiya’s shuddering response is drawn long and heavy. “I’m going to end up fucking you into the floor anyway.”

Hanamiya whines, turns his head so the sound is muffled, but Imayoshi can feel his body draw tight with anticipation around his fingers. He raises his eyebrows even though Hanamiya can’t see him, twists his hand and crooks his fingers to press against the other. “You like the sound of that, hm?” He shifts his hand and Hanamiya jerks, shaking against the floor like he’s been shocked. That’s the spot, then. Imayoshi draws back another inch, carefully this time so he knows where he is. “Do you want me to fuck your mouth, too?” and he thrusts in, sharp and sudden so Hanamiya’s head jerks up, his voice breaks on the moan of reaction the pressure elicits. “Maybe I’ll just jerk off over you, let you listen to me without anyone touching you at all.” Hanamiya’s mewling on every exhale, now, panting for air while Imayoshi twists his fingers to stretch him wider. His cock is aching, pressing sharp against the inside of his own slacks, but he stalls another minute, draws the thrusts of his fingers slow and unhurried as if he has nothing but patience to offer. Hanamiya’s hair is falling over his face, hiding his features under the oil-black strands, but Imayoshi doesn’t have to see his face to know the expression he’s wearing, the tension creasing his forehead and pressing lines into the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes. He can hear the open pant of Hanamiya’s mouth, can picture the damp of saliva collecting at the other’s lips, and that’s as far as he can hold out for his own sake.

Hanamiya sobs an exhale as Imayoshi slides his fingers back, hisses something that sounds like “ _Fuck_ ” but has all the tone of disappointment. Imayoshi rocks back over his heels, presses Hanamiya’s legs down even though the other has shown no sign of kicking for several minutes, and eases his button open, carefully so the sound won’t tip the other off.

“What was that?” Polite, careful, as calm as if they are discussing a class assignment or a training schedule.

“Please.” Hanamiya turns his head, his hair falling across his face and catching at the damp on his lips. “Please, senpai.” He sounds nearly contrite, like he’s begging for forgiveness or playing the obedient kouhai he has never been, and Imayoshi can’t help but be impressed again by his acting.

“Please what?” He pauses, his fingers at his zipper, waiting for the words they both know now are inevitable.

Hanamiya licks his lips, so slowly it has to be deliberate, the way his tongue catches a few strands of dark hair and pull them into his mouth. “Please fuck me, senpai.”

“That’s a good boy,” Imayoshi purrs, and draws his zipper down slow so Hanamiya can hear the click of the metal on itself. Hanamiya’s eyelashes flutter, draw dark over the gold of his eyes, and if it’s an act it’s a good one, believable enough that it makes it past Imayoshi’s skepticism and reads as sincere to the heat in his blood. His cock twitches against the fabric of his boxers, impatient for friction before Imayoshi can push his clothes down off his hips, and Hanamiya is arching up off the floor, making an offering of himself in the angle of his hips and the breathless pant of his breathing.

Imayoshi grabs at the other’s hip, holds him where he is while he reaches out to shove Hanamiya’s hair back from his face. “Spit,” he orders, holding his palm in front of the other’s spit-slick lips. Hanamiya huffs a laugh, tiny and whining, and then he opens his mouth to drag his tongue up the center of Imayoshi’s palm. It’s wet and messy and slick, even before he comes back down for another pass, and his eyes are shut like he’s just as appreciative of the taste of Imayoshi’s skin as he was for his touch.

“Enough,” Imayoshi says after a moment, pulls his hand back so he can wrap his fingers around himself. His grip is slick with Hanamiya’s saliva, pulls moisture up over the flushed heat of his cock, but Imayoshi’s not watching the movement of his hand. He’s watching Hanamiya’s face instead, the angle of gold eyes so he can watch Imayoshi’s fingers, and it’s response to the half-lidded heat of that gaze that makes him twitch harder against his fingers more than the friction of his hand.

“What are you looking at?” he asks rhetorically, letting himself go so he can reach to press the damp of his palm over Hanamiya’s mouth. The other huffs protest, tries to pull back, but Imayoshi tightens his fingers against Hanamiya’s cheeks, holds his grip while he leans forward to fit himself against the other’s body. “Are you thinking about kicking me again?” Hanamiya starts to shake his head but Imayoshi doesn’t wait for his reaction before he starts to force himself forward. Hanamiya’s movement stalls, his eyelashes flutter; there’s some sound in his throat, Imayoshi can feel it hum against the pressure of his palm, but he doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t stop moving. Hanamiya’s body is hot and spit-slick from Imayoshi’s fingers and tighter than Imayoshi can ever remember, like the heat of him is begging to be filled, is drawing Imayoshi down into it. Imayoshi shuts his mouth on the purr of satisfaction that wants to spill up his throat, finishes his forward motion instead before he pauses to catch his breath. Hanamiya’s eyes are closed, his mouth is open against the pressure of Imayoshi’s hand, and even at a distance Imayoshi can hear the frantic heat as he breathes hard through his nose.

“You feel good,” Imayoshi says, as steadily as he can manage, rocks back so he can thrust forward and bring Hanamiya’s eyes wide with shock and sensation at once. The fingers tied behind his back curl for something to hold, dig into Hanamiya’s own wrists until the pale skin under them goes bloodless white from the pressure. Imayoshi huffs a laugh, leans in closer so his mouth is brushing the strands of the other’s hair.

“Is this what you want?” Another thrust, slow and drawn-out so Imayoshi can savour each shuddering inch of Hanamiya tightening around him. Hanamiya whines into his hand, the noise wet and wordless, tips his hips forward to arch himself against Imayoshi’s floor. Imayoshi doesn’t care; it won’t be enough, alone, and the angle of Hanamiya’s hips just drags more sensation over his own skin. “It’s not enough to fail at basketball,” he says, partially because it’s true and mostly because it makes Hanamiya jerk in protest at the accuracy. “You have to lose control here too.” Imayoshi draws back, almost but not quite entirely withdrawing, resists the urge to come forward for a moment. Hanamiya’s eyes open, he twists his head to glare at Imayoshi, arches his back like an offer, but he can’t get enough traction to move himself back in spite of his efforts.

“Or did you think you’d win?” Imayoshi asks, rocks forward an inch, pulls back again. Hanamiya’s eyes go out-of-focus, he groans into Imayoshi’s hand. “You should know you’re never going to win with me.” Another, deeper this time, enough that Hanamiya is starting to draw tight in expectation of pleasure before Imayoshi hesitates and slides back to the sound of choking protest in Hanamiya’s throat. “That’s why you come here.” Once more, hard and fast and sudden so Hanamiya is shuddering under him when Imayoshi purrs, “To be  _defeated_ ” into his ear like an endearment.

That’s it. He knows that’s it, he has Hanamiya right where he wants him, right where they always end up. Hanamiya doesn’t protest, this time, when Imayoshi draws out of him entirely, tries to roll over before Imayoshi shoves his hip and says, “On your back, Makoto.” He won’t get a protest, this time, there’s just the glazed submission in Hanamiya’s gaze and the open-mouthed gasp at his lips because they both know no amount of acting can save him from the truth.

Imayoshi doesn’t have to strip him down. He could push Hanamiya’s legs back again his chest, take him just as he is with his knees caught in the trap of his own clothes and his wrists bound against his back by Imayoshi’s tie. But he does anyway, takes the time to peel Hanamiya’s slacks off him, because he likes the unhealthy pallor of the other’s thighs and he likes the way Hanamiya spreads his legs immediately, offers himself as best he can manage with his hands out of commission. He shoves the smooth dark of the uniform jacket and the rumpled white of Hanamiya’s shirt up on the other’s chest, high enough to expose the dark flush of the other’s as-yet untouched cock, before he fits himself in against the angle of Hanamiya’s legs and starts to thrust forward again. Hanamiya arches off the floor, lets his breath out in a rush, and Imayoshi smiles and leans in closer so Hanamiya blinks his gaze into focus on his face. His eyes don’t flicker when Imayoshi fits his fingers in against his throat; he barely blinks when the other starts to press down. There’s just the gold haze of his stare, all the spark of viciousness dulled into heat and submission so even when Imayoshi tightens his grip he doesn’t do anything more than open his mouth on a failed attempt for breath. Imayoshi’s smile slips wider. He slows the thrust of his hips, leans in closer so his breath skims across the strands of Hanamiya’s hair. He can feel the other shudder under him, half-formed attempt to rock up for more friction or maybe just in response to the tension of the fingers at his throat. Imayoshi lets his arm press in against Hanamiya’s chest to brace himself, trails his other hand down against the rumple of the other’s shirt to press his palm against the heated flush of Hanamiya’s cock. Hanamiya’s eyelashes flutter, his throat works under Imayoshi’s fingers, and Imayoshi ducks his head closer, presses his lips to the other’s forehead and lets the contact linger while he closes his fingers on Hanamiya’s cock and draws up slow and smooth and gentle over him.

He pulls back for a moment, goes still while he loosens his grip on Hanamiya’s throat and lets the other gasp desperate-raw breaths. Hanamiya sucks in a breath, turns his head in sideways like he’s aiming for a bite or a kiss, and Imayoshi presses down, listens to the whine of Hanamiya’s exhale as he tightens his hold and starts to move again, the glide of his hand falling into pace with the thrust of his hips. His skin ripples hot with the friction of Hanamiya tight around him, his fingers tighten on the soft shape of Hanamiya’s throat, and when he purrs into Hanamiya’s hair it has all the shape and form of affection under it.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, between the stroke of his hand and the slide of his cock into the other’s body. Hanamiya brings his legs up, tightens them around Imayoshi’s hips like he’s trying to pull him in closer, and Imayoshi laughs against the other’s skin and loosens his hold again to allow Hanamiya another few gasps of air. The sound of Hanamiya’s breathing tearing in his throat rushing through Imayoshi’s blood, pulls a faint sigh of satisfaction into the other’s hair, and then Hanamiya rocks up in invitation, and Imayoshi presses down, and this time he doesn’t let his fingers loosen. Hanamiya tips his head in closer to press his skin against Imayoshi’s lips, rocks his hips up to meet the other’s touch, and when Imayoshi slides his thumb up sideways he can feel Hanamiya go taut and aching under him.

Imayoshi ducks his head, presses his lips to the line of Hanamiya’s neck just above his fingers, and twists his hand to drag sensation over the other’s cock. Hanamiya arches, tries to whine, and then he’s trembling and jerking and coming sticky over Imayoshi’s fingers, splashing up high on his skin and over the bottom of his shirt. Imayoshi keeps stroking over him, forcing friction over the other’s length until he starts to curl away and shift his shoulders in an attempt to drag away from the excess of sensation. Even then Imayoshi just lets his grip on Hanamiya’s cock go, grabs at the other’s hip to hold him still while he thrusts into the tight-drawn heat of the other’s body. Hanamiya is starting to shake again, trembling under the pressure of Imayoshi’s fingers cutting off his breathing and digging his heels in hard against the other’s spine, and Imayoshi turns his head, presses his lips into the corner of Hanamiya’s mouth as the other’s mouth comes open soundlessly and all of Imayoshi’s body goes warm and white and thrumming with pleasure.

“ _Makoto_ ,” he groans, dangerously tender amidst the radiant satisfaction that spills out into his veins, but Hanamiya’s eyelashes are fluttering, his gaze is sliding out of focus and Imayoshi is certain he’s not listening anyway. He doesn’t let his grip on the other’s throat go, lets the shuddering need for oxygen rippling through Hanamiya’s body pull the last of the sensation through his body. By the time he leans back Hanamiya’s not looking at him anymore, is lying still and unresisting and entirely glazed over. Imayoshi lets his hold on the other’s throat go, leans back over his heels so he can slide out of Hanamiya’s body. He’s just wiping the damp of Hanamiya’s mouth from his lips when the other groans, rough and torn in his abused throat, turns his head and blinks himself back to consciousness.

“Welcome back,” Imayoshi offers, smiling so the shine of his teeth is the first thing Hanamiya sees. “Having fun?”

“Fuck you,” Hanamiya manages, but it sounds shattered and shaky and he doesn’t even try to kick Imayoshi when the other laughs and pushes at his hip to roll him over sideways.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t like being broken as much as you like breaking,” he says, working his fingers into the knot at the other’s wrists and sliding the fabric free. Hanamiya’s wrists are rubbed raw over the bruise darkening his pale skin; it makes Imayoshi want to kiss the heartbeat under his skin, lick at the promise of almost-blood under the bruises.

“I wouldn’t be here if I were pretending,” Hanamiya offers, honesty lying as close under the surface of his words as the blood rising under the skin of his wrists. Imayoshi smiles at his shoulder as he slides his tie free and rubs a thumb against Hanamiya’s darkening wrist. He doesn’t have to look to know Hanamiya is watching him, doesn’t need the reassurance of an expression to be certain of the limp exhaustion of pleasure in the other’s body.

They have always understood each other.


End file.
